


Moor & Mountain

by nehemiah



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Christmas Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:37:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nehemiah/pseuds/nehemiah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick one for the holiday fest (not based on a prompt).</p><p>Obviously there's no Christmas in Westeros. But WHAT IF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moor & Mountain

‘I thought you’d left me.’

Brienne hesitated at the treeline, and stood there for a moment, arms piled with branches. Then she let out a breath which steamed in the air, and crossed the distance to their meagre cookfire.

‘Well?’ he persisted, as she threw the branches down and took her place at the fire opposite him.

‘Everything’s damp,’ she said grudgingly. ‘I had to look for sheltered places deeper in the woods.’

‘A good haul, though,’ he said, with an attempt at a reassuring grin. ‘We won’t freeze, at any rate.’

Cutting firewood, making shelters, skinning game, catching the game in the first place – all were tasks that were greatly complicated by the absence of a hand. Jaime’s pride chafed at not being able to contribute more. Brienne had taken on his share of the duties, and the wench never uttered a word of complaint. He might have felt better if she’d teased him on the matter.

He was unsettled to realise how _relieved_ he’d been when he heard the crunch of her returning footsteps on the hard-packed snow.

‘I was trying to remember something,’ he said conversationally, stirring the pot water with a stick. ‘While you were gone.’

Brienne had taken off her wet gloves and was drying her hands by the fire. She watched him impassively, waiting for him to say more, then gave a sigh of exasperation.

‘What were you trying to remember?’ she recited.

‘ _Remember_ might be the wrong word,’ he clarified. ‘Have you been counting the days since we set out?’

Brienne froze. ‘Y-yes. I make it nineteen.’

‘Nineteen!’ declared Jaime brightly. ‘I reached the same number. And if we’re both right,‘ he added, catching her eye, ‘what does that make today?’

The mulish wench seemed to deflate before his eyes.

‘Oh, Jaime,’ she mumbled, looking down. ‘What does it matter, all the way out here, just the two of us? We have other concerns.’

‘Who doesn’t?’ he retorted. ‘We’re cold and far from the comforts of home, but Christmas is Christmas. Wait here.’

With that, he hauled himself up and went across to the tree they’d hitched their horses to. He selected one of the larger saddlebags where they’d been piled at Honor’s feet, and awkwardly slung it over one shoulder.

Brienne had half risen to her feet, but he waved her away. ‘That’s the bag with our food in,’ she said with a frown.

‘We _should_ eat something, since you mention it, but it’s not the food that interests me.’ He lifted one of the waterskins that hung from the bag, and kicked the cookpot hard enough to upend it and send a spray of steaming water off to their left.

‘Jaime!’

‘I’ve something far better to put in there,’ he explained, waving the skin triumphantly, as the pot swung wildly back and forth its cradle of branches.

‘Wine?’ she guessed, folding her arms.

Jaime didn’t reply, just let the dark liquid pour out. Brienne’s nose twitched, and in another moment a breath of warm spicy air reached his side of the fire.

‘Hippocras! Just the thing for a cold winter’s day.’

‘We can’t afford to carry luxuries,’ she said, but there was a hesitancy in her voice.

Jaime seized the opening. ‘It’s practical enough. It’ll keep the chill away. More to the point, it’s traditional.’

To his mild surprise, Brienne got up and made her own way to the pile of bags, returning with a dented pewter mug and bowl. Wordlessly, she handed Jaime the mug. _Because it’s easier to drink from with one hand,_ he realised.

In a short while the pot was steaming again, releasing the scent of cloves and fruit peel across the clearing. He ladled the stuff into her bowl and was gratified to see her take a deep draught.

‘There,’ he declared. ‘Not so bad. Probably more fun than most of my Christmases at home.’

Brienne was staring at him through the smoke from her dish. ‘What would you be doing?’ she asked timidly. ‘If you were home now?’

Jaime rubbed his stump against his ear. ‘I’d be on duty, of course. I can’t say whether it was King Robert’s fancy or Ser Barristan’s, but I would always be assigned to the royal chambers on Christmas day. I’d start before dawn and pace for a few hours, asking myself whether even assassins worked on festival days. The children would wake up before anyone else. Joff would insist on opening his presents first – wooden swords, real swords, crossbows. Anything he could run around and terrorise the servants with.’

Jaime set his drink down and helped himself to a piece of dried meat.

‘While he was busy, Myrcella and Tommen would come out and bid me good morning, and very politely ask me if I wanted to see what _they’d_ been given. _I’d_ be the first person they’d see, Brienne. Before their mother, even. That meant a great deal to me.’ He looked down at his hands.

‘Then?’ prompted Brienne.

‘Then… Robert and Cersei would emerge. Robert generally flushed and grinning from claiming his husband’s right, something he did rarely enough in those days. Not when he was sober, anyway. Cersei would give me one of _those_ looks, maybe we’d steal a kiss if Robert was distracted, I’d whisper something reassuring into her ear, and… we’d all gather in one of the halls to break fast. The royal couple, the children, Tyrion, of course, he’d be there, whispering jests in their ears and making Cersei frown at the head of the table. Father seldom made it. He’d send some chilly greeting by raven from Casterly Rock. One of my brothers – my sworn brothers, I mean – would be on duty too, usually Barristan himself, and we’d stand like statues while everyone ate and laughed.’

‘After that we’d go across to the Great Sept. The royal party would light candles at the altars, then take their places and listen to the High Septon give his service. Robert would fidget and groan his way through the length of it and – then to one of the halls, for the feast. Toasts and songs and fine music – and the food! Peafowl, venison, boar, royal extravagance! It was seemly for the Kingsguard to refrain, of course… but Boros and Preston generally allowed themselves to be persuaded.’

‘At dusk one of my brothers would relieve me… then I’d…’ _I’d go and find Cersei straight away, before I even changed out of my whites, and we’d find a quiet corner somewhere and we’d -_

Jaime felt his cheeks colouring, a fist of anger clenching in his gut.

‘Never mind,’ he grunted, hunkering closer to the fire. He tilted the mug around, watching the dark liquid swirl.

‘I used to wake up early,’ Brienne said suddenly. ‘Out of excitement, when I was a child. Later, out of habit. I would exercise in the yard for a few hours until the castle was awake and I could smell the kitchen fires.’

‘And then… presents?’

‘Not until the evening. You were supposed to spend the day appreciating what you had – family, home, health. The gifts were just a final touch.’

‘Strange custom,’ sniffed Jaime.

‘An old one. As old as Evenfall, my father used to say.’

Jaime half-remembered something he’d read. ‘ _The Kings of Evenfall_. That’s true, isn’t it? The lords of Tarth used to style themselves kings?’

Brienne looked more uncomfortable than usual. ‘Yes. That was a long time ago. Centuries upon centuries. We are hardly a great house now.’

‘Please go on, your grace,’ said Jaime, a smile returning to his lips. ‘You’d gone back inside after your training.’

‘My septa would usually be the first to find me, sweaty and dirty in my breeches. She’d panic as if Aegon had just flown in on Balerion, and have a gaggle of servants push me into a bath and a dress. I’d greet my father when he came down from his tower, and we’d make our way to the feast hall to take our places. Three seats of honour, up on the dias… myself, my father, and his latest… companion.’

‘Besides the two of us, there are no family left, but Father always kept a good-sized household. I think he disliked silence, and darkness… especially since my mother died. So there would be knights, singers, dancers, fools… fine furnishings, exotic foods, roaring fires…’

‘Sounds pleasant enough,’ put in Jaime.

Brienne looked crestfallen. ‘I put on a brave face, for Father’s sake… but I was never one for revels. I always preferred being alone with him in his solar. In my thirteenth year I asked to be excused from the feast, but he insisted. _We represent Tarth_ , he said. _We have to be seen_. If there was space in the hall, he’d invite some of the locals in to make up the numbers. Smallfolk, at a lord’s feast! They were his people, and he wanted them to get used to the sight of me… perhaps thinking of the day when he…’

She shook her head and moved closer to the fire.

Jaime could see the blue of the sky deepening. Dusk moved quickly, this far into winter. Soon a freezing, starry night would be upon them.

‘I wish I had a present for you, Brienne,’ he said eventually. ‘Something fit for a queen.’ He couldn’t suppress a grin as she rolled her eyes. This was a line of teasing that had undoubted potential.

‘You’ve given me enough gifts, Jaime,’ she protested. ‘It must be my turn by now.’

‘Since you mention it, I’d appreciate you _gifting_ me some of the space under that cloak.’ Brienne blinked, and made to shrug the cloak off her shoulders, but stopped when Jaime help up his hand.

‘Your selflessness is starting to annoy me, wench. That’s not what I had in mind.’ He rose, crossed the space between them in one fluid movement, and crashed down heavily on the log beside Brienne, leaning into her.

For a second, Brienne froze, as still as a statue. Then the tension drained out of her, and she yielded to the pressure, letting his shoulder tuck into hers. She pulled the cloak around the two of them as far as it would go.

‘You should have said that you were cold,’ she grumbled.

‘Honestly? I’m not.’

The wench went rigid again, then Jaime felt her relax once more, breathing slowly and looking away.

‘I wouldn’t leave you,’ she said under her breath. ‘Surely you know that.’

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, o fandom!


End file.
